


lavender, jasmine and sandalwood

by citrusblush



Series: through the garden of eden [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 3RACHA, ? - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically can help you learn more words, But Only Outside, But also, Character Study, Comfort No Hurt, Comforting Vibes, Domestic Fluff, Gentle Kissing, Hinted Argument, Hugs, Hurt No Comfort, Hypersensitivity, Lots Of Textures, M/M, Poetic, Rain, Sad Han Jisung | Han, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Kisses, Soft Seo Changbin, Symbolism, Wait For Part 2 For Happy Ending, Warm, eventually, nice words, soft, wax poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24817387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrusblush/pseuds/citrusblush
Summary: There’s the lingering scent of lavender from the scented sticks that Jisung likes, the underlying mixture of sandalwood and jasmine, though they’re the scents that remind him of home.Slowly, he lifts his head to see the amber glow catch on Jisung’s hair first as he turns to face him, dyeing the strands in pure light. Then his lips, as he drinks in the moonlight and exhales stardust. It’s languid, the dazzling light curving at his cupid’s bow, as if it were pressing a featherlight kiss towards them. In this moment, Changbin has never wanted anything more than to embrace and become enveloped with the same luminescence that panes across Jisung’s skin. The way Jisung’s hand grazes his cheek, tracing his cheekbone and brushing back silky strands behind his ear— it flares with incandescence with every minuscule bit he touches, as if he’s drenched in flames and sunkissed rays.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Han Jisung | Han, Bang Chan/Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin, Bang Chan/Seo Changbin, Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin
Series: through the garden of eden [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806289
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45





	lavender, jasmine and sandalwood

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Huge thank you to [softvoice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softvoice/pseuds/softvoice) for telling me I had put hand thrice in a single paragraph in an earlier draft and being like, such a great friend, ily <333
> 
> And uh, so sorry for not posting for a while ;; I used to go by stellarwoojins, hanbyulites, instantglass,, now I'm finally lavendergloss! I really didn't expect to take that long and with all the stuff that's been going on around the world, that's also added a whole bunch of stress on top of finishing this so :,) This story was one of the ones that I went to when I needed comfort or just needed to channel my emotions into, there's a few others that I've also done the same with (like part 2 of this one!!) and I plan to post those as soon as I can! I have a bit more to say if you're interested in the development of this fic, but I won't bore you and I'll put it at the ending notes instead :D 
> 
> Fun fact! This is set in the same universe as lights will guide you home!  
> Happy reading, and I hope this brings a bit of comfort to you as well. I promise, things will get better.

The soft sound of piano gently winds around the room, and though it’s serene, the volume only crescendos and heavily accented notes aren’t even following the sheet music of La Campanella any longer— It’s simply a detour that Jisung crafts so that he can let loose all the built-up emotion in him. And Changbin, ever so gentle and kind, simply sits there, waiting until he's simmered down and ready to talk. If it’s been a little past two hours since Jisung’s stormed inside, it goes unsaid. The measure of time doesn’t matter when they’re with each other, not here in their sanctuary. 

The question of being allowed to stay doesn’t even have to be asked, even though it’s Jisung who shows up out of the blue at Changbin’s place and the irrevocable conclusion that he has no plans of leaving until god knows when. Changbin's to blame, partly if not all, for being the one with the overly expensive piano in their relationship. He doesn’t mind though, it’s better to be with him than being alone and knowing that Jisung’s suffering by himself.

Jisung doesn’t consider himself to be incredibly lucky, though meeting Changbin must have meant that all the remaining luck in his life has gone to this very encounter. It’s moments like this that he treasure and hold onto dearly, where there’s _some_ peace and quiet within his own turmoil. Though Jisung is typically a loud person, he's always felt most at home where he’s alone and safe within these walls, with the presence of someone else that allows him to be himself.

It’s Changbin’s presence that remains poignant as Jisung’s appreciation towards Changbin increases by tenfold. When his fingers break form and lose the previous tension, the last note suspended in the air, that’s Changbin’s cue. The almost finished slice of chiffon cake is set aside as the older boy opens his arms, head slightly tilted to the side to allow Jisung to turn, to fall in between, burrowing into the warmth and soothing scent of jasmine that makes Changbin _Changbin_. 

It's the curling of wound fingers digging into the fabric and the dampening of Changbin’s hoodie from the salty tears; the secure arms around him that finally allow him to cry for once, because he’s safe here to be himself _._ He's no one but himself, in this house in the presence of his lover, who allows– no, who offers a place for him to act however he wants. It's never about allowing each other, because they belong to no one but themselves. It's being the embodiment of a safe haven, limbs entangled into a shelter and warmth that remains a given. 

Jisung isn't supposed to cry, or show emotions deemed as weak, simply because _he_ isn’t allowed to without any prior explanation from others as to why. If there’s anything his childhood has forcefully taught him, it’s that and nothing more. And Changbin knows that he won’t allow himself to, because he’s meant to fit into the mold of the comforting friend, always there to lend an ear for every occasion. Jisung’s so incredibly open and striving for the best, the one who would willingly neglect his own duties as a human being just to sate others. He’s been told what to do and what not to do, told by so many people that he had once been a shell of who he was, forcing himself to change to fit into the countless expectations he was to live up to.

Changbin likes to think of himself as a blessing in disguise. Changbin’s always mistaken to be stoic, to be the quiet type and though Jisung’s one of the only people he’s willing to open up to, he knows that Changbin’s cold demeanor is nothing but a baseless assumption from others. Through Jisung’s eyes, he’s shards of broken mirrors, haphazardly cut paper and a force to be reckoned with. Though he’s disapproved of by his peers and some family members, he’s the one who broke Jisung out of a toxic cycle of putting others first.

When the tears start to slow and Jisung’s breathing evens out, he can’t help but brush his nimble fingers through his hair, easing away the impending headache from stress. Changbin’s no stranger to the dark eye bags that hang underneath both their eyes, even though Jisung’s exhausted and his eyes have drifted shut, it’ll take far much more to get him to fall into slumber.

“Sung-ah,” Changbin murmurs fondly against Jisung’s shoulder, cradling his frail body to his even closer than before, “I’ve got you. Take as much time as you need, tell me whenever you’re ready, don’t tell me at all. It’s okay.” A huff of acknowledgement, the rushing force of air brushes against Changbin’s chest only reminds him of how painfully small Jisung is. Especially now, curled up and wrapped in his arms, Jisung only looks as vulnerable as can be. Even so, in terms of height and shape, Changbin may be smaller, but it doesn’t make him any less wise towards the other boy’s antics and habits. 

“Wanna sleep with you, ‘m tired,” Jisung mumbles, voice hoarse from the tears. There’s nothing suggestive behind his words, just as there’s never been. His response is as vague as can be, though Changbin knows not to question it. If Jisung doesn’t want to talk, he won’t, and if he did, he would and either way, Changbin respects that. And even though Changbin knows what’s going on, what’s he’s trying to hide, he won’t guide the conversation without Jisung himself starting it. He isn’t pilant and lenient, willing to do whatever his boyfriend says; he’s only willing because boundaries exist and late-night talks about things like this have only strengthened their bond. It’s the empathy that they both have that has Changbin nodding. 

It’s a bit of a struggle, to push himself up with his arms occupied, and most of his vision obscured by fluffy blond hair, but he knows where the bedroom is by muscle memory. It’s a bit of a stretch to call it theirs, even though there’s a toothbrush that Jisung's left behind in the washroom, his hoodies and sweaters finding a home in the closet and waking up in tangled embraces are a regular occurrence. There’s the lingering scent of lavender from the scented sticks that Jisung likes, the underlying mixture of sandalwood and jasmine, though they’re the scents that remind him of home.

Changbin’s too gentle and kind for the harsh world out there, though his exterior looks beg to differ, here, he’s more than the simple judgement. Sharp eyes and defined cheekbones, something that others find fear in are the things Jisung likes most about his lover. He sets Jisung on to the bed, drawing back the covers with one hand, though he refuses to let go, placing kisses to his cheeks and jaw, deliberately missing his lips; a giggle pushes past as Changbin gradually frees himself to grab the silky sleepwear for Jisung.

Jisung’s eyes droop, a hand raised to rub at his eyes, which Changbin has to gently pull away so that he doesn’t complain about how irritated his eyes are later. Jisung’s limp in his arms, but cooperative even when Changbin leaves his side to find a shirt made of softer material and tossing his hoodie into the laundry basket. This Jisung, a far quieter and subdued one, is far more sensitive by anything coarse that grazes his skin; which could lead to annoyance and raw skin the next morning. Jisung’s manages to slip on the shorts, already having dimmed the lights, casting the room in molten, honeyed amber. Still sitting in the same position he left him in, their eyes meet, filled with all the love in the world he has to give. To anyone else, it’d seem romantic, but to them, it’s just how they’ve always been and nothing more, nothing less.

“Love, how are you feeling?” Changbin maneuvers himself to sit down on the bed behind Jisung, letting Jisung’s back press flush against his chest. Jisung only hums, sinking into the embrace. He toys with the hand that isn’t engulfing his waist, tracing arbitrary shapes on Changbin’s palm. It’s slightly ticklish from the roughness of uneven nails, a habit of Jisung’s, biting and tearing, ripping at them until it’s too close towards the skin.

"Bad," Jisung mumbles, pausing in his ministrations and huffing out a breath. Jisung squirms, shifting to turn around and hide his face in Changbin’s neck, a telltale sign leaving no room for elaboration. Changbin sighs, resting his cheek on Jisung’s shoulder and pulling him even closer. He isn’t disappointed, nor is he exasperated because he’d never be tired of Jisung, ever. They’ve been dating since Jisung’s last year of high school, friends since they’ve been able to walk— and he knows that Jisung believes that their celestial forms collided across the stars scattered in the universe, where their fates align. 

Jisung’s fragile, and it isn’t only because of how Changbin views him as such. Even though Jisung still tears up when he gets paper-cuts, refuses to double-knot his own shoelaces and ends up tripping aftwerwards; he’s always under the guise of being strong and steady. He’s all shine and shimmer, all that glitters with his upbeat front, hiding the dull parts of himself driven by just emotion.

Slowly, he lifts his head to see the amber glow catch on Jisung’s hair first as he turns to face him, dyeing the strands in pure light. Then his lips, as he drinks in the moonlight and exhales stardust. It’s languid, the dazzling light curving at his cupid’s bow, as if it were pressing a featherlight kiss towards them. In this moment, Changbin has never wanted anything more than to embrace and become enveloped with the same luminescence that panes across Jisung’s skin. The way Jisung’s hand grazes his cheek, tracing his cheekbone and brushing back silky strands behind his ear— it flares with incandescence with every minuscule bit he touches, as if he’s drenched in flames and sunkissed rays. It’s sentimental, almost reminiscent even.

“Chan’s mad at me,” Jisung says, words tumbling from his lips, his hand limp in their now-interlaced fingers delicately resting in his lap, “He won’t—he hasn’t returned any of my calls, he hasn’t looked at any of my messages and he’s just ignoring me for the sake of it,” he adds on, though they both know it’s a lie coated in honeysuckle, dripping from his lips. 

Chan’s not the one to allow his emotions to move him forward on the board, he’s a multitude of crushed flower petals and uneven stems sticking out from books where they lay, pressed for the sake of his journals and photo albums. He’s the frayed and torn edges of misshapen cloth, the sharp tang of freshly cut grass. Chan, for one, is more than society’s qualms and claims, always defiant. If the world dangles a challenge in front of him, he challenges back, never the one to back down first or without reason.

“He needs time too, just as you do. It’s affected him just as much as it affected you,” Changbin says, a hint of caution in his voice, “And Chan doesn’t have anyone to comfort him, he needs to take time for himself and put his own well-being first for once before replying.” The unspoken ‘anymore’ goes unsaid, cast aside, almost forgotten, but not unnoticed. He can feel the sharp intake, the telltale wobbling of lips and that even though it’s the right answer, it isn’t the one he currently wants.

It's eroding at him, the guilt and realization setting in that the fault lies with Jisung, no matter how much he tries to deny it. Changbin doesn't tell him that it's okay, that things will work out because it isn't that simple; it takes the suppression of doubt and bubbling anxiety to muster up the courage. It isn't easy, for someone like Jisung who lives by his emotions, breathes in and out words that come to mind before they even register in his heart. 

And then Jisung pulls away as if he’s been burned, scorched for standing too close to the flames and the truth of what’s bothering him. Outside, thunder rumbles, much like the unease building up inside of them both, rain beginning its descent towards pavement. Changbin sighs, draping the weighted duvet around a guilt-stricken Jisung, careful to not touch his bare skin. Breathing in the woody notes of ambrox and sandalwood that remain imprinted between the threads intertwined together to form the cloth itself, unable to be washed away no matter how many times Changbin tosses it into the washing machine— it’s like a cloud of incense that refuses to leave the apartment, though they’ve left long ago. 

It’s a shrouded memory, cast aside on this specific day years ago, where things had been so different than they were now. How he craves the ghost of a callused hand clasped around their frail wrist, how it was too soon to get to holding hands and such intimacy. He craves it so badly that if a heart were made of stone, his would be filled with as many cracks as the days they’ve gone without seeing one another, without being complete with all thirds of a whole.

As much as Jisung hates to admit it, he misses how Changbin was back then, just as much as Changbin himself does. He misses the soft hands enveloping his waist, the press of lips against where his neck meets his shoulder and the clandestine of open mouthed kisses in the dark. He misses the shivers that travel down his spine when being tickled, the way Changbin had laughed when Chan was still familiar, a close friend. 

“I know,” Jisung whispers, repeating the words to himself and swallowing his pride, throat bobbing. “I know,” the words repeated with a sense of finality between them. Tired eyes downcast, Changbin hums, carefully maneuvering them to lie down. There isn’t a need to miss, if he can fix the severed ties between them, all three of them. That’s the end of that for tonight, with the rain droning on around them, with Changbin’s touch grounding him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello again! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this. This particular fic has always been very dear to me and it's one of the many I've been hesitant to post because of how long it's been, how my writing style may have changed; so many other factors but, here we are! It's been a really long six months, and I'm honestly so incredibly sorry for taking so long— I've changed my username so many times and heck, it's a miracle if you recognize me :^) Though I'd be really grateful if you did!
> 
> Let me know if you enjoyed this, and please, comment your thoughts! I'm interested in how you perceived certain scenes and descriptions, or if you caught the little details woven in! I'll try to respond as soon as I can <3 With love, thank you for reading.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/citrusblush/)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lavendergloss)


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